My Imaginary Friend
by Logan the Awesome
Summary: <html><head></head>A story I submitted to a contest at my school. It is Who-verse, and is posted in honor of the Friendship Anniversary of myself and Kathryn Hart!</html>


**Hey guys. Okay, so this story is in honor of a very special day. On April 19th, it was the friend anniversary of myself fellow author, Kathryn Hart. Katy made me some very awesome YouTube videos (her link is at the bottom), and I had a sequel to her birthday fic I was going to post...but I easily lost inspiration for it. So, as I was looking through my archives for another suitable story, I came across this little beauty. I wrote it for a Creative Writing contest at school, and it was sort of suppose to be based off the fandom of Doctor Who, but I didn't make it obvious at the time. Now, after submitting it into the contest, I went back through and edited so that it's move Who-verse. Anyways, enough of my rambling. ENJOY! And Happy Anniversary Katy!**

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><p>Do you ever remember having an imaginary friend when you were a kid? They were like your own personal sibling you weren't related to, who you would always like and never get annoyed with. They would be whatever you wanted them to be; a real person, an alien, a unicorn, or even a walking, talking microwave. They agreed with whatever you said and they were always there for you when you needed them to be. They helped you through the hard times in your life.<p>

But as time went on and you grew older, you stopped seeing your friend every day, and they weren't always there for you. You were growing up, and you didn't need them anymore. You wanted to take on the world's challenges by yourself. Then, sooner or later, you would forget your imaginary friend altogether. This wasn't the case for me though.

Unlike most children, my imaginary friend came to me twice in my life; only twice. The first time he appeared to me was when I was seven. I was walking home from school one day, not in the best of moods. Some boys in my class had put wax on the erasers for the blackboard and accused me of doing so. I didn't have proof that it wasn't me, so I was the one who had to stay after and try to get it off as my detention. It was getting dark, and my mom hated it when I was late for supper, so I took the short-cut through the forest to get home.

The forest, however, was forbidden in our county unless it was open season, and for good reason too. In the past fifteen years, there had been eleven killings, seventeen seriously injured pedestrians, and four disappearances. Now I know traveling through the forest was a bad idea, but I was only a child at the time. I was curious to see what all the excitement was about, and didn't ever ponder over what the dire consequences could have been.

When I look back on the event today, the memory is strong, and real. I remember the forest being dark. The sun was setting, and there was the faintest bit of light bleeding through the gaps of the trees. I remember trudging my way through the forest floor as I maneuvered through the numerous trees and dodged low branches. The entire time, I had this feeling that I was being watched, but decided to ignore it. I traveled deeper and deeper into the trees. Time passed and the sun was setting to my right, giving off less light as it hid itself behind the horizon. I watched as the last bit of red light slowly faded into the pale blue sky, and then disappeared all together.

Suddenly, a creature leapt out of shrubs when my back was turned and snarled a deep, blood-thirsty growl. I couldn't see what it was, but at the time, I didn't care. I ran. I ran as fast as my already tired legs could manage. I didn't care what direction I was headed in, I just wanted to get away from it. After five minutes of running, I felt like I couldn't go on any longer. The air pinched my lungs like spears when I tried to breath. My legs felt restricted from running, and like they wanted to detach from my body. I was exhausted that I tripped on a root and fell to the ground, the cold, moist soil covering my cloths as I rolled breathlessly to my back.

I could hear the creature approaching, its feet crushing the twigs and fallen leaves as it slowly approached me. I didn't dare turn to face it. I just lied as still as I could, hoping it would think I was dead and leave me alone. As I felt it approaching, I held my breath, and shut my eyes tight. I could feel my hands shaking by my sides and the sweat roll down my face and onto the ground. I heard the movement stop right by head, and prayed that whatever it was, couldn't sense my rapid heartbeat. A few minutes went by and I resisted the urge to open my eyes. Curiosity burned within me, but I figured I would value my life more than me knowing what this thing looked like. I sensed its head leaning over my face, causing my heart to beat even faster. It started to breathe on me and I took a silent whiff, unable to hold my breath any longer. Something occurred to me then. The creature's breath smelt like…peppermint? That couldn't be right.

"Are you dead?" I heard an adult voice say above me. It was deep, like a man's, and had about as much curiosity in it as I was feeling at the moment. I slowly opened my eyes, only to see a pair of dark eyes staring right into mine. "Oh good," he said. "I was getting worried there for a moment; you took a nasty fall back there."

I didn't know what to say. I didn't even know what to think. So, I got off the ground and brushed the soil off my cloths. I was just about to turn and leave, when the man stopped me.

"Okay, two things," he said. "One, you missed a spot." He brushed off a bit of mud on my shoulder blade, and then turned back to me. "And two, you're going the wrong way."

I had found my voice by now, and responded, asking how he knew where I was going. His reply was quick and the tone of his voice changed as well. He sounded more serious, compared to his more care-free, boyish tone he used before. He said that little children don't live in a restricted forest on their own. I wasn't sure how to respond to this; I just stared up at the man. It was hard to see him, for the sun had set by now, and there was no light bleeding through the gaps in between the trees like before. It was then, I realized how much energy the chase took out of me; I was exhausted. I stretched my arms above my head and stifled a yawn.

"Goodness," the man said, his voice returning back to its more boyish tone. "You must be famished. No supper and a big chase like that? For a seven-year old, I'm surprised you're still standing!"

The man went on for a bit longer, but I had lost him after the third sentence. My mind was dead, so dead that I didn't even stop to wonder how this man knew my age. My eyelids began to droop, for the weight put on them was too much to keep them opened. I felt my head nodding a bit back and the rest of my body relaxing. I vaguely realized the man picking me up and carrying me out of the forest.

The last thing I remembered from that night was approaching my house, me still in the man's arms. He gently set me up-right in front of the door, and knocked on it four times for me. He looked down at me, and I looked up at him. The light from the front porch shined on the man's face, and I was finally able to see what he looked like. He had fair skin and long, dark, wacky hair, parted far off to one side so that his hair hit his right eyebrow weird, making him look like he had bangs on one side of his head. That was all I was able to take in before he slipped a small piece of paper into my hand. He then turn turned around and I watched as he started to walk away from my house.

"Wait!" I called to him. The man turned around, and looked at me. My mind instantly went blank. I didn't know what I wanted to ask him, so I said the first thing that came to my mind. "What's your name?"

I barely saw the man smile at me, curtsy from the lack of light. "You can call me John Smith. I've always like that name, John Smith. It sounds…bold, and like I'm a person who likes adventure."

I was just about to ask why to call him "John Smith", but before I got a change, he was already walking away. I watched from my front porch as the figure of the mysterious man was slowly engulfed in darkness.

I didn't look at that piece of paper the man gave me until the next morning. It had my name on the front in red ink and was folded three times into a square. His handwriting was slanted and slightly loopy. I unfolded it as slowly as I could, wanting not to tear the fragile material and read the note to myself.

_Little Companion,_

_You are probably wondering, at this time, who that strange man was who came to your rescue last night. Well, I'm not exactly sure what you should think of me as; perhaps, your imaginary friend. Kids your age have those, don't they? Just think of me as the person who was there for you when you needed a person to be there. The case will probably be that we will never meet again, and if that is the case, I want you to do what all kids do with the imaginary friends when they grow up. I want you to forget me. _

The note ended there. He didn't sign it, like most people did when they concluded a letter. I stared at that last sentence as it imprinted itself into my mind. _I want you to forget me. _That's what he wanted me to do, but sadly that never happened. I remembered him, and couldn't seem to bring myself to forget him. For months after our departure, I'd walk around the house saying, "Mummy, John Smith and I are going outside" or "John Smith wants chocolate milk too, mummy!"

Yes, I called the man by his first and last name, and I did until I was eleven. As I grew older, my mother disapproved of me having an imaginary friend, and wanted me to forget John. She told me that he wasn't real, and that it was silly to believe in such childish nonsense. I didn't want to believe her, though. Somehow I knew that she wasn't right. My imaginary friend was real; I just knew it. Besides, I couldn't desert my beloved childhood companion. So, I made him my little secret, hidden from the rest of the world.

Years passed before I saw him for the second time; the last time. I was grown-up, a college graduate, and starting my new life in the city. I had never lived in the city before. I was born and raised in the country, so the change was difficult. I wasn't use to not seeing the sky every day. I missed being able to watch the red sun slowly disappear behind the darkening blue sky, and then noticing the moon off to the distance and watch as star slowly started to appear. In the city, you were lucky if you saw a star in the sky, and the tall buildings blocked most of the sunlight from penetrating to the ground. I didn't hate it, it was just…different.

I'd been living in the different area for a little more than a month, but still got lost when trying to find my apartment building. It was located on 52nd street, and I always seemed to pass streets 50 thru 54. The only way I knew how to get back, was through an ally way that went straight to my apartment. It was pitch dark, but went in a straight line, so it was hard to get lost. I also constantly had the feeling that I was being watched while traveling through it in the darkness of night. Of course, my longing for my bed was greater than my fear of being mugged, so I continued my travels through it every night.

Tonight, though, I knew something wasn't right. As I traveled through the pitch-dark passageway, I could faintly hear the pounding sound of heavy work boots close behind me. I stopped abruptly, and the faint footsteps did as well. I'd turn ever so slowly to get a glance behind me, but saw nothing but black. I shrugged mentally and continued on my path back to my apartment. I didn't make it to the end of the ally way though.

I felt a sharp point dig itself into the back of my neck, going so far into my flesh that I could have sworn it hit my bone. It was quickly removed, and I fell to the ground, pain seeping through my neck and slowly stretching its way to my back and head. I heard a low, gruff laugh of a man from behind me, as the heel of a large worker boot dug itself into my side and pushed me so I was lying on my back.

Pain shot through my body as my back as it made contact with the hard, concrete ground beneath me. I groaned in pain and felt my eyes water, blurring my vision so I couldn't see the man in front of me. He kicked me in the stomach, putting all of his weight under his foot, causing me to burst in a fit of coughs. My mouth was dry, and my throat felt like I swallowed fire. Pain was seeped through my body, and I could faintly feel the thin trickle of blood make its way down my neck.

The pain was so intense, and I was slowly going into unconsciousness. I barely noticed the man reaching into my pocket and taking my wallet. I would have gotten up and snatched it away from him, but the pain was too much to bear, it was impossible to move.

"You're a rich little lassie, aren't ya?" he asked aloud, his voice gruff and sinister.

I head the thump of his big, worker boots hit the concrete once more as they started to walk away from me. I had lost all hope. He was going to get away with all of my money, and I was going to be left in an ally way to die. Suddenly, I heard another set of steps coming my way.

"Excuse me, sir, but I believe that isn't your wallet," said a very familiar voice.

I knew who that voice belonged to; I could never forget it. I rejoiced inside my head; John Smith had returned! I knew, all along, that he wasn't make-believe. I wanted to jump off the ground and go over to see him, but my body told me otherwise. Pain still seeped beneath my flesh, and showed no sign of disappearing. The last thing I remember was a groan of pain from John, and then a shout of agony from the man. I then slipped into unconsciousness.

I woke up on the couch in my apartment the next morning. At first, I was confused why I was on the couch and not in my bed, which was just down the hall. It came to me when I snuggled into my pillow, getting into a more comfortable position, and felt something on the back of my neck rub against the rough decoration exterior. Curious, I went to touch it to see what it was. Once my finger brushed against the rough bandages, I broke the contact and cringed in pain.

"I wouldn't touch that, if I were you," said a voice to my right. I snapped my head in that direction, and saw John Smith, sitting on the arm of a chair and looking at me with concern. "It took a while to stitch it up and considering you haven't taken any pain meds yet, it's going to be a little sore."

I didn't answer immediately. I was too busy taking in his appearance. He still had that wacky, long dark hair with the odd bangs and the icy blue eyes, but something shocked me tremendously. He looked as if he hadn't aged at all. No added wrinkles, stress marks, nothing. He was exactly as I remembered him, which I wasn't expecting considering it had been years since I had seen him last.

"Thank you," I whispered. "You always seem to be there for me when I really need it."

He nodded, and responded saying, "that's what imaginary friends do, I guess. In life threatening situations, we tend to show up whether we have control over it or not."

"I thought I wouldn't see you again," I said, more to myself than to him. "You said so in your note, so I just assumed you wouldn't come back. I never forgot you, though. You were my best friend as a child."

I was surprised to see him smile at my confession. There was a sparkle in his eyes that was undoubtedly cheerfulness and humor. He shook his head slightly; causing his odd bangs to sway slightly, and gave a small chuckle.

"Well, I figured we'd meet again—" he said. He still had the carefree, boyish tone he had all those years ago, but altogether it sounded more matured, even though it looked like he hadn't aged a day. "—but I know that we won't meet for a third time."

And he was right. After that day, I never saw John Smith again. I went on with my life, but he was never truly gone. He was always with me like an imaginary friend would be; not really there, but there in my mind. He was there for me on my wedding day, he watched as I cradled my first child, and he supported me at my husband's funeral many years later. He held me when I cried, laughed with me when I was happy, and helped me figure things out when all seemed lost. He was the mysterious man I met in the restricted forest when I was seven. His identity was unknown to me; his name never mentioned. Though he probably had a name, I still gave one to him, and in my mind, he was always recognized as this name—John Smith.

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><p><strong>Reviews are greatly appreciated! :D<strong>


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